An Heirloom For An Heirloom
by TheTV-Junkie
Summary: Dark & twisted prompt fill (details inside). While on their way to Erebor, Thorin and his company are captured in Mirkwood. Thorin is brought before the Elvenking who demands the immediate return of his precious gems of Lasgalen. When Thorin stubbornly refuses, Thranduil takes great joy in breaking the rebellious Dwarven Prince, using his own shameful desires against him.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created by JRR Tolkien and owned by whoever may hold the rights in this very moment you're reading this, various publishers and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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 **A/N:** Hello, dear readers! This is my looooong overdue fill for an old Thorinduil prompt:

 **'** _I would love to read some really nasty, perverted shit about Thranduil bringing Thorin before his throne after he and his company have been caught, asking for the immediate return of the white gems of Lasgalen. When Thorin refuses, Thranduil takes great joy in breaking and humiliating him (toys, devices, whatever you see fit) without ever laying a hand on Thorin himself since that's beneath him. Furthermore, lots of Elven come should be involved in this (Bukkake?) and in the end Thorin has to comply and return the gems and necklace since the Elvenking threatens to give Thorin's kin (Fili/Kili/whomever would work best as a leverage) the same disgusting treatment in turns that has been bestowed on the dwarf prince before. Evil, mean, disdainful Thranduil much appreciated_ **.** _Please make Thorin SUFFER_ _real good!°_

As you can imagine, this little one-shot turned out to be pretty explicit (Writing is therapy for me, so please be lenient) and maybe a bit disgusting (if not a little insane, lol), so please heed the warnings/tags. This story is not for you if you're faint-hearted or/and an admirer of Thorin. Unless you like seeing him being given a hard time. ;) Lines in italics are Thorin's thoughts.

Important: Since FFN doesn't allow images to be uploaded, I strongly recommend you to go to the AO3 version of this fic! You can find it here: archiveofourown DOT org/works/7761154

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Thorin woke with a start, the back of his head sporting a pulsing bump from when he had accidently bashed his head open earlier. Refusing to acknowledge reality, his eyes remained closed, trying to block out the discomfiture that was gnawing away at him.

 _'Blasted Elves!'_

Though his memory was only fragmentary and still somewhat shadowy, the Prince under the Mountain recalled that he had been putting up quite a fight when the royal guards came to fetch him from his cell, separating him from his aghast kin. Kicking and screaming obscenities in Khuzdûl, he had even managed to break free from the clutches of one of the more tentative, younger guards. - A curious Elven lad who had probably never seen a dwarf for real, curiously ogling the Durin and was thereby caught off-guard by the Prince's sudden attack. Unexpectedly though, the elf had budged in surprise instead of parrying the blow, thereby sending Thorin running his head into the wall behind him. And into unconsciousness.

Grunting in embarrassed frustration, the Dwarfen Prince slowly raised a hand, brushing through his unruly, dirty looks in order to examine the enormous lump that had formed on his head. An unexpected clinking of metal alarmed him in his restricted movement and his eyes snapped open in terror.

"Where am I?" He whispered breathlessly, rattling with the Mithril1) chains that only allowed him to move his hands and arms a few inches, same as his feet and legs which barely reached the ground. His small, hairy body was bent at the waist, hips and chest each resting on some sort of heavy wooden support and thoroughly secured in unyielding restraint while his mid-section and genitalia hung freely in between. A shudder ran down the dwarf's spine when he came became aware of his stark nakedness. "Shit." Thorin cursed under his breath.

"What is the meaning of this? I am not a bloody tabletop! Release me _NOW_!" The dwarf demanded.

Thorin's vision was still blurry from the impact of his little self-inflicted accident in the corridors but his ears worked all too well when an amused chuckle made him stop his noisy rant.

"Ah, awake at last, Prince Thorin?" A vibrant voice drawled, it's ominous timbre reverberating from the vast stone walls of Mirkwood's ancient throne room.

For a second, Thorin swallowed hard. He knew that voice. It had been haunting him for ages, in unsettling, decadent dreams and horrible nightmares alike. Playing tricks on his impressionable mind when he was barely a grown dwarf at his grandfather's court, filling his adolescent musings with forbidden and shameful fantasies. Fantasies that had sadly turned sour and filled with hatred at the betrayal of the Elves when Smaug came to claim Erebor, robbing the dwarves not only of their home, but also their future. With no elf coming to their rescue at the command of their narcissistic ruler. Blinking, the Prince's vision slowly cleared.

Raising his head best he could, Thorin looked up at the slender figure in front of him, seated on a massive, antlered throne at the top of a few spiralling steps.

 _'Thranduil_.'

The ancient Elvenking, an epitome of haughty indifference, enticing and ageless in his ethereal appearance tilted his head, studying his captive attentively. Unlike the handsome elf, time had evidently not been too kind with Thorin Oakenshield. A rough 170 years of hardship and vexation had taken its toll on the Prince and he was a mere shadow of the young dwarf Thranduil recalled from when the two Royals had last met at Thror's court. If it had not been for the grim determination in Thorin's eyes, Thranduil would have declared him a dwarf broken beyond repair.

Which would have been a pity really, since breaking Thorin was exactly what the wicked Elvenking had planned on inflicting on Thorin himself.

"That is _King_ Thorin to you!" The dwarf snarled, but his claim was only met with a smug smile. "And as a fellow King I demand you to end this mockery...!"

"A king?" Thranduil snorted, the elf's sonorous voice cutting Thorin off. "To what kingdom, you petty dwarf? You are impoverished nobility at best, condemned to roam the lands without purpose and without aim, only subject to the memory of a long lost glorious past when Erebor bloomed with glory and riches." He paused for effect. "How dare _you_ make demands of me?"

"Then RELAEASE me, damnit!" Thorin shouted furiously, tired of repeating himself and struggling with his chains for emphasis. "Let me and my people go, so we can reclaim what is rightfully ours!"

"Reclaim what is rightfully yours..." The Elvenking's eyes narrowed. "Now that is an interesting choice of words." Thranduil shifted in his throne, languidly propping his tilted head on his palm. "There are gems in that mountain that I desire too. White gems of pure starlight, many of them crafted by your people into a priceless piece of jewellery..."

For a few moments Thranduil seemed deeply lost in thought and Thorin was grateful that his own eyebrows' nervous twitch of recognition seemed to go unnoticed for the time being. The dwarf _remembered_ those gems, especially a stunning necklace. And how he had wanked on it after his grandfather had denied the Great Elvenking the return of his treasure, the shiny necklace wrapped tightly around his straining cock as Thorin had fantasised of that pretty and confusingly appealing elf fucking him with reckless abandon. In a moment of weakness Thorin had even considered returning those damn piece of jewellery to Thranduil personally and in secret...hoping for a special sort of compensation.

 _'Sins of my youth.'_ Thorin thought to himself bitterly. In retrospect, he was glad he hadn't succumbed to that specific desire, yet he couldn't deny the blush that crept on his cheeks at the thought of those depraved musings.

Thorin's train of thought was soon interrupted by the Elvenking's menacing whisper. "Send one of your confidants to that cursed mountain to return what is mine and I shall consider setting your people free. A single dwarf could easily enough nick that jewellery box from underneath Smaug's very nose and go undetected."

The dwarf grimaced. "No." Thorin and his company were already running very short on time for reaching Erebor before the end of Durin's day, but the proud Dwarven Prince was beyond admitting it, let alone to that haughty elf.

Thranduil's expression turned dark. "Why not? It is of no value to you anyway. Just some Elven heirloom, it means _nothing_ to you." He thundered, starting to lose his stoic composure.

"But it means something to _you_ , obviously." Thorin replied nastily, the dwarf not being above rubbing it in. "Why not make a bargain, Thranduil? You leave us be and once we've reclaimed Erebor..."

"You will NEVER be able to reclaim that mountain, stupid dwarf!" The elf fumed, his eyes glistening with malice as he clutched the armrests of his throne in anger. "What are you even thinking? Marching into Erebor with a handful of over-the-hill dwarfs and mere toddlers to face a lethal dragon? I will not allow for your stubbornness to re-awake that beast to bring death and destruction over all Arda! If you don't give in, you and your people shall rot in my dungeon. Your case is lost, dwarf!"

"And so will be your precious gems, you pointy-eared bigot!" Thorin countered.

Again, Thranduil's eyes narrowed to slits in barely restrained aggravation as he snapped at Thorin. "Very well then, stubborn creature." A knowing smile started to tug at the corners of the Elvenking's lips, easing his beautiful features a bit. "He that will not hear must feel." Thranduil stated ominously, gesturing some unspoken order to a nearby servant. "Before long I will have you begging for returning those gems to me."

"Pah," Thorin snorted in disdain. "I'd like to see you trying, elf."

Thranduil didn't reply to this, just smirked at the dwarf in all malicious glee he could muster when the sound of multiple footsteps announced tonight's entertainment to begin.

Thorin still couldn't turn his head due to his tight restraints, but he visibly tensed when all of a sudden cold, delicate fingers snaked down to his crotch. The dwarf bit his lip at the unwelcome touch, those nimble fingers making quick work of suspending his balls and shaft in some sort of very uncomfortable, unyielding contraption. It was only when he felt some knitting needle-like device being shoved into his urethra that Thorin gasped from both the stabbing pain that instantly hit him at the unexpected intrusion as well as the shame for physically reacting to it. Much to his horror, his limp length started to fill out at the odd sensation, yet the steel-like device held it down and securely in place.

Trying to will away the blush that intensified on his cheeks, Thorin spoke defiantly, his half-lidded eyes finding the Elvenking to be thoroughly amused by the dwarf's current predicament.

"Is that all you can come up with, you twisted tree-shagger?" The Prince under the Mountain growled, careful not to move too much. "Using some sick Elven gadget to humiliate me into submitting to your every whim? That's pathetic."

Thranduil rose to smoothly glide down the wooden stairs, robes billowing impressively behind him. He came to a halt where Thorin could see him better without craning his neck too much.

"Oh, I beg to differ." Thranduil cooed. "We've barely even started, my dear Prince." As if on cue, one of the Elves behind the dwarf stepped up, parting his hairy butt cheeks. Flinching, Thorin felt an impressive hardness plowing into him unceremoniously, without the least bit of preparation but gladly a little oil. The Prince suppressed the scream that threatened to escape his bruised lips, fearing the Elven cock would split him in two as it filled him inch by excruciating inch.

Thorin was no novice to buggering, female dwarves were a rare treat after all, so male dwarves didn't mind an occasional shag amongst each other. Nevertheless, Elven cocks were _huge_ in comparison to a dwarf's much smaller physique, so Thorin silently prayed to the Valar that he would be able to make it through the ordeal without tearing.

Glaring daggers at him, the dwarf tried to lash out at the King, but of course, to no avail. "And I'm afraid you'd be shocked to learn that this 'gadget' is not Elven-made," The tall blonde smiled down at him condescendingly. "But of _Dwarfish_ origin."

The Prince's eyes grew wide at Thranduil's statement.

"You're a liar." He spat, pride wounded at the impertinent elf's claim that such a vicious contraption were Dwarven-made. Behind him, the anonymous elf had turned his fucking into an art form of hitting Thorin's prostate just at the right angle with every lazy thrust; only adding to the dwarf's achingly throbbing yet constricted erection that he sadly knew would find no release. However, it didn't take long before the elf behind him spilled his hot, milky seed into the Durin's abused rear, making his stomach gurgle with the copious load it had to take. The anonymous elf retreated, only to make place for the next in line. Much to his surprise, however, Thorin had to admit that his sexual defilement was far from brutal and at some point he had stopped counting the numerous cocks that had been shoved and released into his sore ass. No, Thranduil's subordinates rather seemed to aim for humiliation instead and that seriously started to worry the Prince under the Mountain. Each load of corrupted Elven come made his tummy distend at an alarming rate.

"Am I?" Thranduil's knowing smile grew even more malicious and with another wave of his hand two servants brought a treasure chest before Thorin's pillory, making sure he got a good look of the questionable items as they noisily scattered them on the floor in front of him. Unbelieving, Thorin's eyes roamed hectically over the disturbing devices, he recognised none of them, but the tell-tale Dwarven design and craftsmanship were shockingly undeniable. He kept staring wordlessly, trying to fight off the images that kept popping up in his mind regarding _just how_ that box's content had come in the Elvenking's possession.

"Your great grandfather had been a kinky man, you know." Thranduil purred, taking great delight in seeing the dwarf's face lose the last bit of colour. "Imagine Dáin's surprise when his futile attempt at abashing me with those little toys...how to put it delicately?" Thranduil idly looked at his shiny fingernails. "Did not have the desired effect. Quite the contrary," He added, starting to circle Thorin. "You must know, in the olden days your great grandfather and I..."

"Enough!" Thorin roared, tears of frustration, embarrassment and guilt regarding his own forbidden cravings towards Thranduil dwelling in the corner of his eyes. The very idea that one of his noble ancestors, let alone the last King that had ruled Durin's Folk in the Grey Mountains2) had had some sick and twisted sexual relationship with the King of Elvenking made him nauseous and sick to his stomach. Truth be told, Thorin had never known his great grandfather, Dain I, personally since he had been slain 157 years before Thorin had even been born. Thorin's father and grandfather had tended to nip things in the bud regarding Thorin's curious enquiries about his ancestor and fell into deafening silence when being questioned about him. It was only now that realisation dawned on the young Prince under the Mountain - Thranduil, in all his cruel gratification, had just unveiled a very dark, well-kept family secret Thorin would never be able to unhear.

"You have no shame, you pointy-eared bugger!" Thorin seethed, his voice cracking.

"Shame?" Thranduil replied, arching a brow. "Shame is for creatures of less perfection. Like dwarves. But then again," He drawled, knowing full well that his next statement would cut deep into Thorin's already bleeding heart. "If I remember correctly, your great grandfather equally lacked all shame once I was done with him." The Elvenking then brought his mouth closer to Thorin's ear, whispering. "He used to be quite content, impaled on my hard cock or lapping away at it eagerly. My come is quite addictive, you know. Or so he told me."

"YOU'RE DISGUSTING!" Thorin yelled, tremors rocking through his dangerously bulging tummy when he was filled with yet another plentiful load of seed. The Dwarven Prince's face contorted in agony, and in his fear to pass out he spitefully snapped at the Elvenking again.

"But that's all lies, isn't it? You would never soil yourself by touching a dwarf with your own hands, let alone your blasted royal dick, now would you? That's why you're letting your minions do all the dirty work and..." Thorin swallowed hard. "Rape me into submission. I tell you what, Thranduil? It _doesn't work_. You're nothing but a _PERVY, OLD LIAR!_ " The dwarf yelled the last three words loud enough for them to echo through the vast palace, for everybody to hear.

For a split-second Thranduil frowned at the insult and clenched his jaw. Taking a step closer towards the bound dwarf, he then opened the front of his immaculate finery, swiftly opening the fly and indeed freed his alluring length. The Elvenking started to stroke himself without any haste, unimpressed by Thorin's baffled expression. The dwarf surely hadn't expected _this._

"So I take it you want a memorabilia of a more personal nature, eh?" Thranduil laughed maliciously. "I'm sure that can be arranged." He started making a show of stroking his cock more fiercely now, the ivory colour of the spongy mushroom head changing from immaculate ivory to a an angry shade of purple.

Thorin was torn between averting his eyes and watching the lewd display in transfixed awe, helplessly huffing in indignation all the while. Only when he could no longer bare the sinful and lecherous noises that fell from Thranduil's lips while fapping, the Elf's crotch dangerously close to Thorin's face, that the Dwarven Prince looked up. - Just in time to witness Thranduil's face contort in orgasmic bliss as he carelessly shot glistening strings of pearly white come into Thorin's direction. The very moment Thranduil's plentiful load rained down on the scandalised dwarf's face, all sticky and hot, an agonising pain wrecked Thorin's genitals, making him suffer through his very first _dry_ orgasm.

 _'Valar forgive me for being turned on by this.'_ He inwardly sobbed, utterly defeated.

One eye glued shut with the gooey remnants of his facial, Thorin's other eye twitched as he tried to recover from the degrading sensation.

"Some proclivities certainly seem to run in the family." Thranduil cooed cruelly and thereby reminded Thorin of his ancestor's immoral laps once again, tucking himself back into his leggings as if nothing had just transpired between the Prince under the Mountain and him. The ancient Elvenking then moved to pick one of the many kinky items from the floor, holding it before Thorin's come-plastered face.

It was a golden dildo, adorned with glittering emeralds, huge in size and clearly dwarfish in design.

"This," Thranduil explained. "Is one of those little toys your great grandfather tried to embarrass me with." The elf chuckled. "Little did he know how much pleasure it gave me over the years."

Thorin felt like throwing up.

"But I'm willing to return it now, with a heavy heart, of course." Thranduil made a dramatic, exaggerated gesture. "As a sign of good will. I know rumour has it that your people have never been paid for the service of crafting my gems into that fine necklace your grandfather denied me." Thranduil handed the heavy golden item to a bowing footman. "Needless to say that this is utter nonsense, but still, in a fit of noble generosity I have decided on making a barter. I'm confident this piece of art it will cover your people's expenses by far." Thranduil then grinned complacently. "Let alone its _historic value_."

Thorin squeezed his eyes shut in horror when he felt that awful toy slowly being worked into his sore arse, this time he was genuinely afraid of tearing due to all the sharp gems rubbing against the tender flesh of his abused insides. He shuddered when it eventually filled him whole, the footman connecting the toy with the device Thorin was already wearing. This way, he knew he would never get rid of that insane amount of Elven seed inflating his belly so grotesquely.

"An heirloom for an heirloom." Thranduil stated, matter-of-factly as the contraption clicked into place with finality. "Order one of your comrades to get my property before this night is over and you'll all be on your way by tomorrow's first sunbeam. I'd even provide him with my fastest horse."

Mouth dry, Thorin replied in a broken voice. "And why, just why would you think I agreed to that trade, now that you have thoroughly abused me, debased me, tortured me and ripped me off my pride?" Stubbornness was the last ace up Thorin's sleeve, from his point of view he had nothing to lose any more.

"Because," Thranduil purred sinisterly, kneeling down to bring his face to the same level as Thorin's, looking him in the eye as he provocatively started licking his own come from the Prince's cheek. The dwarf held his gaze, but once again shuddering in outright disgust. "Despite _your_ impressive resilience I can't help but wonder," Thranduil snaked out his pointy tongue to lap away another bit of come. "Just how resilient your companions are? Maybe I'll start with one of your nephews."

Thorin cringed at the threat of his kin, but the penny had not dropped yet.

"So, what do you think, Prince under the Mountain?" Thranduil continued, wanting the dwarf to fully realise every vicious detail of the consequences should Thorin deny his demand. "How long does it take for an average Dwarven belly to _burst_?"

And then it fully dawned on poor Thorin. Images of Fili, Kili and the others popping up before his inner eye, their bloating stomachs filled to the brim with too much gooey seed, dying a horrible death...

"Don't!" Thorin cried. He had never had a chance of winning this, that he became now aware of, terrified. "I agree! I agree!" He panicked. "Send Dwalin, he..."

And with that, Thorin was embraced by darkness once more, slipping into merciful unconsciousness.

The white gems of Lasgalen, including Thranduil's much desired necklace were returned to him within a couple of mere hours. The Elvenking abode to his word, releasing a traumatised Thorin and his utterly shocked but unharmed company. The Prince under the Mountain never fantasised of Thranduil again. The rest is history.

The end.

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 **A/N:** There you go, I hope my fill met the expectations. Comments very welcome. :)

1) **Mithril** is a metal that resembles silver but is stronger than steel and much lighter in weight. Mithril comes from two words in Sindarin: _mith_ , meaning 'grey' or 'mist', and _ril_ meaning 'glitter'

2) For more information on Thorin's great grandfather, please follow this link: lotr DOT wikia DOT com/wiki/D%C3%A1in_I

3) The fantastic artwork by Candra (to be found on the AO3 version of this tale, see link at the beginning of story) was part of the inspiration for this fic and the design of Dain's dildo toy gift for Thranduil.^^


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